One month later.
On the night before the coronation, inside the royal palace.
Seated in a chair, Jaemar turned to Charles beside him and asked curiously,
"Did you find out anything from that thing?"
Ever since they killed Karlra a month ago, Jaemar and Saphir had split the demon's corpse between their two factions.
Saphir assumed Jaemar was interested in the power of demons, and had warned him repeatedly not to be tempted—afraid he'd end up corrupted by demonic energy.
After all, history held many cautionary tales of heroes who, after slaying evil, were seduced by the very power they fought against.
Jaemar could only helplessly explain that he viewed the demon corpse purely as magical material—not because he wanted to harness demonic powers.
Whether Saphir believed him or not, he at least convinced himself.
Afterward, he handed over his half of Karlra's remains to Charles for research.
Now, upon Jaemar's inquiry, Charles offered a smile and answered,
"After a month of study, I've discovered that a demon's physiology is entirely different from the creatures of this world. They resemble beings of pure energy more than flesh and blood. Every drop of their blood is corrosive—any creature that comes into contact with it risks corruption at best, death or demonic transformation at worst."
Hearing this, and seeing Charles stop there, Jaemar assumed he was deliberately withholding something. He prompted,
"Uh… and then?"
Wearing the same awkward but polite smile, Charles shook his head.
"That's it. I haven't figured out anything else…"
Jaemar was stunned.
"That's all you've got after a whole month?!"
He'd expected Charles might not uncover much, but still—this was beyond disappointing.
Everything Charles had just said was already written in the history books! What was the point of repeating it?
Seeing Jaemar's 'I've-been-duped' expression, Charles could only sigh and wave it off with resignation.
"I'm just a warlock. If you want me to study spells, I might be able to do something. But biological research? That's really not my domain."
Jaemar fell silent, then let out a sigh.
"…Fair point. In that case, maybe we should just use the corpse to craft some magical tools. Better than wasting it on nothing."
But Charles quickly shook his head.
"No need for that yet. I've contacted a scholar who specializes in extraordinary creatures. He might be able to get something useful out of it."
Jaemar's eyes lit up.
"Is this person reliable?"
"He's extremely talented," Charles replied, "but incredibly reclusive. The kind of man who lives only for research. I managed to contact him because of some old connections. Even I'm surprised I convinced him to come. So I'd say he's trustworthy."
Jaemar nodded in satisfaction. If Charles, who rarely praised others, vouched for the man's skills, then the scholar had to be at least somewhat capable.
"Alright then. Let's proceed with that."
Seeing Jaemar make his decision, Charles shrugged indifferently.
"Sure. But I've always felt Orsaga doesn't care about any of this. He's never interfered in our actions, not even when a demon descended upon the capital. I even tried to provoke him last time we met—told him we killed a demon, just to see his reaction. He didn't even blink."
"I can't understand his indifference," Jaemar said, frowning. "Everyone has something they desire."
Rubbing his chin, he added thoughtfully,
"I've never figured out what it is that Orsaga's really after. He craves souls and certainly has the power to take them—but he always holds back. What's stopping him? If we can uncover the reason, that may be the key to escaping his control…"
"Maybe so."
On this point, Charles fully agreed. Even if they now sought redemption, pride from their past selves wouldn't allow them to be puppets.
Shaking off those chaotic thoughts, Charles lifted his wine glass with a smile.
"Anyway, tomorrow's your coronation. Let me toast to you in advance."
"Thanks!"
Jaemar raised his own glass in return.
---
Under the gaze of thousands.
Jaemar walked through the streets lined with cheering citizens, flanked by soldiers in ornate armor. Flowers and flags waved around him as he approached the gates of the royal palace.
Before the statue of his ancestors, Jaemar knelt on one knee and solemnly closed his eyes.
"I, Jaemar Voss, shall inherit the glory of House Voss. I vow to uphold tradition, lead this nation, and protect its people!"
"No hardship will ever bend my knee. I will pass on this honor, and see the banner of Mardain rise ever higher over these lands!"
"May the world bless us!"
As he swore his oath, a boy and a girl—both finely dressed—approached him. One held the crown, the other the scepter.
They placed the crown upon Jaemar's head and handed him the scepter.
At that moment, Jaemar opened his eyes.
He stood, turned, and faced his breath-held subjects.
Raising the scepter high, he declared with solemn pride:
"I, Jaemar Voss—your King—will inherit the glories of the past and lead the principality of Mardain to its peak!"
Cheers erupted instantly. Flowers and fireworks filled the sky.
And in that moment of collective joy, Jaemar felt—truly felt—the weight of their expectations settle upon his shoulders.
It changed something in him…
__
Over a year later.
The sun blazed at its zenith.
Since Jaemar's coronation, the principality of Mardain had thrived. Even the capital was more prosperous than ever, basking in its golden age—just like the sun overhead.
In a quiet study, Orsaga sat in a chair, calmly taking the tea that Trina handed him. Inhaling the aroma, he praised as always,
"Your tea is excellent."
Though she wore her usual polite smile, her heart beat faster. Orsaga sipped the tea, smiling faintly.
"Still that familiar taste."
Trina forced a smile.
"…I'm glad you enjoy it."
He chuckled, then gently touched her cheek. She trembled slightly under his fingers.
For the first time in his life, a flicker of regret crossed Orsaga's face.
"What a shame. I truly liked you. Perhaps not love—but you were my favorite by far. You made me genuinely want to keep someone by my side."
"Maybe this is just a creature's instinctive desire for companionship…"
"Funny, isn't it? I'm a demon. I shouldn't even have emotions like this…"
Taking a deep breath, Trina's fake smile finally vanished. Looking him in the eye, she asked:
"Why did you tell me the truth back then? You could have lied. If you had, I might've kept believing you."
Orsaga thought for a moment, then smiled.
"I may be a demon, but I don't like lying—especially not to people I care about. That's why I told you the truth."
Trina's smile, genuine for the first time, blossomed on her face.
She leaned in and kissed the corner of his lips.
"Thank you, my lord… for liking me."
Feeling the brief softness of her farewell, Orsaga froze—then smiled faintly.
"Goodbye, Trina."
A scarlet light flashed. Trina's heart stopped.
Smiling, she collapsed toward Orsaga—but her body never touched him. It dissolved into countless invisible motes, vanishing from the world.
Withdrawing the hand that had touched her face, Orsaga sat motionless. His smile was gone. Holding the tea, his eyes turned blank.
He was a demon. He should have been used to betrayal.
If he didn't want to let her go… why did he kill her?
Was it because she meant too much to forgive?
He didn't know what to make of his own feelings.
A moment later, hurried footsteps echoed from outside.
King Jaemar Voss, clad in armor and leading a group of elites, burst through the door.
He was joined by Duren, Charles, Saphir, and several other powerful individuals. At the doorway stood thousands of soldiers, armed and equipped with anti-demonic gear.
Surrounded completely, Orsaga didn't even glance at them.
Jaemar's eyes narrowed briefly in surprise, then he declared sternly,
"Demon—today is your end!"
Orsaga slowly looked up at Jaemar, his expression utterly blank, his gaze distant and cold.
Their betrayal was nothing unexpected.
In this world, influenced by the Will of the World itself, native-born humans would subconsciously reject his existence.
They were like puppets on strings.
To Orsaga, their betrayal only meant the World's patience had run out—and it was time for him to take what he could and vanish.
They were disposable. He never cared about their thoughts.
But Trina was different.
She was important.
He had protected her from the influence of the World's Will. Everything she did came from her own heart.
Raising his cup, Orsaga drank the last of the tea, then said calmly to Jaemar:
"No need to worry—Trina completed her task. I drank the poison. It was the last cup of tea she ever made for me, after all. I couldn't let it go to waste."
Setting the cup down, Jaemar couldn't tell what Orsaga was thinking—but he knew there was no turning back.
He shouted,
"Attack!"
Arrows coated in holy oil flew in through the windows. Soldiers drew weapons and rushed in.
Orsaga casually flicked the nearest arrow aside.
The deflected shaft spun into others, setting off a chain reaction midair. One by one, the arrows dropped harmlessly to the floor around him.
The approaching soldiers froze, stunned.
When Orsaga rose from his chair, they instinctively stepped back.
Ignoring Jaemar's dark expression, Orsaga reached out.
A soldier from the rear was sucked toward him. Caught by the throat, the man struggled as Orsaga calmly said,
"I just had a thought. If death is inevitable… can't we at least make it beautiful?"
The next instant, the soldier exploded into blood mist—leaving behind a single crimson flower.
It had seven layers of six petals each, resembling a blend between a rose and camellia, delicate and elegant. A lingering red mist circled the petals, giving it a haunting allure.
Admiring it, Orsaga smiled.
"Isn't it beautiful? Perhaps I'll call it… Deathblossom."
Before Jaemar could respond, Saphir angrily shouted,
"Demon! You still dare act so arrogant?! We will destroy you here and now!"
Orsaga's red eyes glanced lazily at him, then he smiled and tossed the flower aside.
"I look forward to seeing you try. I'm not exactly in a good mood."
With that, his form began to shift.
Horns sprouted from his skull, wings unfurled from his back, armor-like scales and carapace covered his body. His height surged from 1.8 meters to over 3.7.
With a single flap of his wings, a violent gust erupted.
The roof, walls, and dozens of soldiers were blown away.
Unfazed, Orsaga looked down at the runes etched on his armor—Crimson. He frowned slightly.
They didn't look right.
With a thought, the runes transformed into the shape of Deathblossoms, blooming along his exoskeleton.
"Much better," he said, smiling.
Then, a pillar of scarlet fire burst skyward from his body.
It spread like an umbrella, darkening the sun and blanketing the capital in ominous shadow.
Countless meteors rained from the sky like a fiery storm.
Apocalypse had arrived.
As Jaemar stood, stunned, his eyes lost all light. His soul seemed gone.
Then, eyes blazing with madness, he charged into the pillar of flame—
---
Translator/Note: (These are author words and he is kinda of right. And I like the protagonist too.)
AUTHOR/NOTE: Believe it or not, this started out as a harem-style demon novel. I'm a shut-in, after all. That's what I like…
But now, every named character except the protagonist is dead.
Even I'm shocked.
This isn't how dark fantasy is usually written, right?
Still, I think it suits the protagonist—he's a demon with just a hint of humanity.